


Forgive me for I have done you a great wrong

by Eikaron



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Apologies, Aziraphale being a total dick, Emotional Hurt, Enochian, Feelings, Friendship/Love, I can't put it any better than that, Lots Of Sad, Love, M/M, Made up languages, Poor Crowley, angel culture, angsty Crowley introspection, don't worry it ends well but you might feel like smacking Aziraphale very hard several times, drunk discussions, especially not to you, many hugs, while giving Crowley hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eikaron/pseuds/Eikaron
Summary: "There seems to be this great sense of love. I can't put it any better than that. Especially not to you."During another one of their drunken conversations Crowley says more than he intends to. Aziraphale disagrees.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I wrote and re-wrote this about 200 times and now I'm going to post it because eff it. Fair warning: May hit you right in the feels. FYI: Chapter 5 is the last chapter, chapter 6 is a different version of it plus a lenghty A/N.
> 
> ETA: I recently carefully re-read Good Omens and came to the conclusion that canonically Crowley and Aziraphale apparently never physically fought or discorporated each other even pre-Arrangment (a thought that admittedly feels really weird because it's so established in fanon...) and made a minor change in Chapter 1 to reflect that.

It was a Tuesday night.

It was a Tuesday night and like on so many other Tuesday nights before, Crowley and Aziraphale were holed up in the slightly dingy backroom of the angel's bookshop and getting plastered. Like on so many other Tuesday nights before, they were discussing the meaning of life, the universe and everything. Or so they had been, until a few moments ago, as even the liveliest debates will peter out and come to a lull eventually, especially if copious amounts of drinking are involved.

However, their silence was a comfortable one. One in which Aziraphale closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair with his hands neatly folded over his belly, where he was currently contemplating the meaning of, if not life, then at least cocoa. Crowley meanwhile sprawled on the little sofa with one arm loosely dangling over the side; holding a pair of designer shades whose frame would occasionally scratch the floor when he moved.  

The demon's eyes were open and he was studying the ceiling. An oddly-shaped water stain in particular had caught his attention. It did not look like Jesus at all, he decided, and told Aziraphale, who made a vaguely agreeing humming sound.

"You din't even look prop'ly", slurred Crowley and used his sunglasses to point accusingly at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale sighed and squinted at the stain.

"It doesn't look like him", he said, which satisfied the demon enough for the silence to stretch on for several more minutes, in which Crowley began to scrutinise another stain with drunk intensity. 

Out of the blue, he asked: "You ever thought of doin' it, angel? Inna carnal sense, I mean."

"Pardon me?", said Aziraphale and stared at his friend, flabbergasted.

"Y'know", said Crowley, raising his eyebrows meaningfully, "Doing the nasty. Shagging. Bonking. Fu-"

"I'm wellawa… well aware what 'doing it' means, Crowley", interjected Aziraphale curtly, cutting the demon off before he could properly get going.

 "So, have you?", Crowley inquired again.

"Have I what?", asked Aziraphale back.

Crowley groaned inwardly at the angel being deliberately obtuse.

"Thought. About. Doing. It", he drawled, emphasizing every word. "With me", he clarified, when Aziraphale did not say anything, in case his friend had missed the implication and to prevent him from pretending to if he had not.

"Of course not! Why would I ever do that?", said Aziraphale and turned beet-red.

Crowley shrugged and stretched out even more, with one leg hanging over the back of the sofa and the other covering the whole seat.

"Dunno. Jus' wondering 'bout it", he said vaguely and appeared to suddenly be very interested in the dregs at the bottom of his mug.

"Have you?"

The question had slipped out before Aziraphale had been able to stop himself.

 "Have I what?", asked Crowley innocently and smirked, when it earned him an exasperated sigh and eye-roll.

"Thought about it. Thought about having sex with me", said Aziraphale bluntly and stood up (he was wavering slightly) to get more to drink.

The angel had been sorely tempted to use the f-word just to spite Crowley and indeed would have, had he not suspected that Crowley would have relished it. 

When Aziraphale came back, Crowley's gaze could only be described as intense.

"Why d'you wanna know?", he asked.

" _You_ asked _me!_ ", retorted Aziraphale and put two beer bottles on the table with a tad more force than necessary. "Why d' _you_ wanna know?"

 Crowley shrugged again and held out his mug expectantly.

"Just figured 's the one thing we haven't done", he said nonchalantly. "Wondered 'bout it. Like, if we should. You know. After all that Armageddon't 'n stuff. Might not get another chance."

"I hope we have some time left until the next one", replied the angel. He sniffed. "And just. And just. Just because one cando something doesn't. Doesn't mean one ought to." 

"You say thisss like having sex with me would be the wors'thing ever", said Crowley, ostensibly mortally offended by the implication. 

Aziraphale's expression softened and he poured half of one bottle into Crowley's glass.

" 'Course not, my dear. You are the inshi-initial tempter after all – 'M sure it would be lovely."

"Lovely", echoed Crowley sarcastically. "How _nice_."

"Oh, you know what I meant", snapped Aziraphale and glared at him. The effect was somewhat mitigated by the fact that he had trouble focusing.

"Sssorry", said Crowley. He did not sound very sorry, but his expression was contrite enough to slightly mollify the angel.

"What brought this on all of a sudden?", he asked, while refilling his own beer.

 "Dunno", lied Crowley. "Jus' something I've wondered 'bout, 's all."

 He regarded the angel pensively.

 "I know you've had sex before", he said.

Aziraphale flushed again and sat down, cradling his beer glass.

"Uhm. Well. Yes. I confesh I gave into. Gave into my curiosity once. 1 It was… 'n experiment. A one-time thing", he admitted, emphasizing the last part.

"Sev'ral times, ashually, from what I recall", corrected him Crowley, giving him a sly glance.

"How would _you_ know", said Aziraphale huffily and scowled at the demon, who broke into a way too cocky grin and raised his eyebrows in manner that could only be described as the epitome of utter smugness.

"Who d'you think set you up?", he told Aziraphale, who almost spit out his beer.

"You…! You…!", he spluttered, angrily jumping up from his seat, "How dare you, you… you Serpent!"

"Angel, relax. 't was three 'n a half millennia ago", said Crowley, trying to calm the angel down, although he was still smirking. "Sit _down._ " He fiddled with the two metal rings piercing his lower lip with the tip of his tongue before he gave the angel a pointed look and added: "Ssssomeone knows you've tricked me into doing good…thingies. Deeds. You've tricked me into doing good deeds often enough over the csssenturies."

"Well, yes, but… Look, y'have to remember", Aziraphale began to protest, but he was almost immediately cut off by Crowley.

"No buts! I _do_ remember, angel", said the demon heatedly, "Need I remind you of Sicily? 2 Bloody nasty of you, that was! Nasty. Didn't live it down with Below for a decade. Really cramped my chances at prompto… promotion, 'm telling you."

Aziraphale had to concede the point, albeit grudgingly. 3 Although he and Crowley had never outright fought, they had nevertheless spared each other nothing when it came to trickery until sometime into the Arrangement. 4 Aziraphale muttered something unflattering about demons and returned to his seat. 

"Oh, alright. I forgive you, my dear", he said, still grumbling a bit. "You are right, it happened a long time ago an', an' there's no point arguing about it millennia after the fact."

Duly absolved, Crowley nodded and drank up before pointing his empty mug at Aziraphale.

"So. Lust", he said, swinging back to their original topic. "Technically possssible for you."

"I wasn't. Lusting after them I mean", said Aziraphale defensively, taking a sip from his beer.

"Ssssure you weren't", said Crowley dryly and started to guzzle his in the most infuriating way possible. He was very good at this. You didn't spend more than six thousand years with someone without learning how to push their buttons.

"Crowley, 'm an angel! I'm not shup.. supposed to feel lust!", said Aziraphale sharply or at least as sharply as he could in his intoxicated state.

"Well, 'm a demon!", said Crowley and gesticulated wildly with his beer. " 'M not supposed to feel l-" He caught himself, broke off and took a deep breath. "Never mind. 't was a ssstupid idea, angel. 'Ssss not like 'm supposed to be with you either", he hissed, toning his volume back down to a normal level.

Crowley studied the contents of his mug.

"Could get me into real trouble", he added morosely.

Aziraphale gave the demon an odd look before he asked, curiosity getting the better of him: "I thought. I thought tempting angels to sin would be approved by your supri…super…superiors?"

"Might. Might. Or they'd file it under 'fraternising with the enemy' and come after me. Who knows", snarled Crowley.

"Then why risk it?“, asked Aziraphale and frowned at him, confused. 

"Seems dumb. If you ask me", he said, conveniently ignoring the fact that they were already fraternising quite a lot.

"You're right", agreed Crowley. "Right. 'S dumb. Forget about it. 'S a terrible idea. 'M too drunk." The lies were rolling off his tongue easily, leaving only a trace of regret in their wake. He grabbed the half-empty 5 bottle of Pilsner on the table and let himself fall back into the sofa cushions once again.

"How'd we. How'd we even get here, my dear boy?", asked Aziraphale, running a tired hand over his hair and face. 

Crowley took a swig and handed him the bottle.

"Beats me", he said. "Hey, you ever wonder why 's called 'fraternising'?"

Seeing as he was glad to steer the conversation away from what was clearly a fraught topic, Aziraphale did not comment on Crowley's obvious attempt to change the subject

 "I mean what about 'sororising'? Can't women be traitors too?", mused the demon.

Aziraphale hummed and opened another bottle that had popped into existence. He was not sure if it had been him or Crowley.

 "They can. 'S called fraternising anyway"

He sighed and shook his head.

 "Sexism. Such a waste of human potential."

 "Makes my work lots easier, though."

 "Almos' everything humans do does, dear. Make your work easier I mean", said Aziraphale mildly.

" 'S not true!", argued Crowley. "What about. What about-"

He tried to come up with a counter example, which turned out to be a lot more difficult than he had anticipated.

"Hippies", he settled finally. It was far from being a satisfying answer, but it had been the first one to come to his mind. "All that 'M'ke War Not Love', naw sorry, other way round, all that nonsense?" 

"You don' even like war", Aziraphale pointed out. 

"Well, yeah. I mean no. I mean yeah, no, I don't like war, but I get commden… commendations for it s'metimes", countered Crowley and tilted both himself and the beer bottle so far back that he nearly dropped it behind his head.

"True. True", acknowledged the angel, then added: "Doesn't seem fair. You getting commadane. Commas. Commendations for all the terrible things they do."

Aziraphale leaned back in his chair, letting an arm hang over the back. After a moment's thought he even put his feet on the table. What the heck.

" _You_ got a conmen… condemnadation… blast it, a 'well done' for old whassssherface, Mother Teresa", said Crowley acerbically.

"That was different!", protested Aziraphale.

 

 

* * *

 

 

1 Punt, 1487 BC.

2 Crowley would never get over the orphanage in Sicily. It had sported a stone plaque with his name on it for nigh on fifty years.

3 Mostly by pointing out that Crowley had never even wanted a promotion in the first place.

4 The tally had actually been slightly in Aziraphale's favour towards the end.

5 It had been half-empty for several rounds by now.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley was lying face up on his king size bed, fully dressed and wide awake. The lights were out but with night vision being one of the perks of being a demon he didn't need them. Not that there was much to see when you were staring at the ceiling.

 _There seems to be this great sense of love. I can't put it any better than that. Especially not to_ you.

The words had stung him, back then. Crowley had not known why, but he had not exactly had time to dwell on it. After all, there had been an apocalypse to avert.

He had plenty of time to think about it now. The words had come back to haunt him after his last conversation with Aziraphale and, inexplicably, they still stung.

Crowley knew that they were not supposed to have developed such a close friendship. Or any friendship at all. They were supposed to be enemies, but Aziraphale had been an enemy for six thousand years.

He had long since stopped being The Angel to Crowley. Time had eroded their differences, their sides, had slowly chipped away at their otherness until only Aziraphale had remained. Aziraphale on the other hand had apparently never forgotten that he was a demon. 

Crowley knew that, technically, demons were not supposed to even be able to care about anyone other than themselves let alone feel love in any of its forms. Humans liked to make so many distinctions between friendship, familial love, romantic love, but Crowley knew that they were really all one and the same. When it came down to it, all kinds of love sprang from the same place and the only differences between them were what form they took and how deep they went.

Crowley knew that his feelings for Aziraphale went deeper than he was ready to admit.

He had always assumed the angel felt the same but wouldn't admit it either because neither of them was technically allowed to. When the Apocalypse had arrived, they had clasped hands and faced it together and now, in the aftermath, they were carrying on as they always had. They enjoyed life together. Crowley had not wanted to give up Earth because he felt at home and he liked it here but most of all he had not wanted to give it up because Aziraphale lived there, too.

And now, Aziraphale had told him he didn't think Crowley was even capable of loving him. He blinked, but even though they were burning he knew that no tears were ever going to come forward from his serpent eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale being a total ass. Really, that's the gist of it. Ye be warned.

 It was a Wednesday night this time, a wine Wednesday to be exact, and the topic had come up again.

"You don't think I'm capable of love, do you, angel", said Crowley. Aziraphale couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but Crowley's mouth was a thin, sharp line.

"Well, no", Aziraphale said slowly. "Not any longer. You're Fallen, Crowley. Surely you must know what that entails?"

Crowley turned his head away and crossed his arms.

"I see", he said.

"What is that supposed to mean?", inquired Aziraphale and knit his brows.

"Nothing. Never mind. Obviousssly I know what it means to Fall, angel", said Crowley frostily, "It's not exactly something one easily forgets."

"Of course, of course", Aziraphale assured him hastily, slightly taken aback by Crowley's strong reaction. "I apologize, my dear, I didn't mean to imply… " He faltered, not even entirely sure what it was he had not meant to imply. "I'm sorry." 

Crowley nodded and for a while they remained taciturn, each lost in their own thoughts. Drinking.

"I do remember how it was Before, you know", Crowley spoke all of a sudden.

"You do?"

In over six thousand years, the angel had hardly ever heard Crowley mention Heaven in anything other than generic terms. They had not known each other back then and Crowley had never said anything about what it had been like for him, personally. Who he had been before the Fall. If he even thought about it at all anymore. 

"I didn't know that", said Aziraphale carefully.

"No. You wouldn't", said Crowley. His voice was hollow.

Another hushed silence fell until Crowley, again, broke it.  

"Remember how the old Greeks had many words for love?", he asked.

"You mean like Eros, Philia, Agape? * That sort of thing?"

Aziraphale refilled his glass. If they were going to get philosophical, more wine was in order.

"Yeah. Well, I'm obviously incapable of Agape", said Crowley cynically, "but what about Philia?" 

Aziraphale frowned and Crowley hesitated before he continued. There it was. The Question that had bothered him ever since, the one that kept coming up, kept echoing in his head again and again and again, restless in its wait for an answer. His very own _Gretchenfrage.**_

"Do you think we're friends, angel?", he asked softly.

The question threw Aziraphale off.

"Yes", he answered, slightly baffled. "Of course we are, Crowley!" 

"Are we?", asked Crowley laconically. His face was impossible to read behind the reflective shades. "How can we be friends if you don't even believe I can feel Philia?"

"I… well." Aziraphale was flustered. "I never really thought about it, to be honest. I suppose I always thought we both sort of got used to each other, you know? There was no one else and I quite liked spending time with you and well, one thing led to another."

In other words, humanity had rubbed off on them, although Aziraphale wouldn't have put it quite like that.

They both drank. Aziraphale was starting to feel a little dizzy.

Crowley took off his sunglasses to look at him and Aziraphale once again found himself marvelling at Crowley's eyes. He had always secretly admired them. They were unique, the only ones like it in the entire world. 1 The expression in them was hard.

"You really don't think that I – when it comes down to it – can feel actual friendship for you? That I merely got attached to you because you were basically the only option? Sorry, I meant I 'sort of got used to you'." It couldn't have sounded more bitter had Crowley made actual air-quotes.

"I – no, Crowley, that is not what I'm saying that at all!", protested Aziraphale.

"Really, angel. Then what are you saying, pray tell?", Crowley spit out angrily. 

"I…look, Crowley, I've never… why does it even matter to you? You're a demon. We have an Arrangement and it works!", said Aziraphale defensively.

"Listen, angel. I know it was only matter of convenience for you", interrupted him Crowley, "At some point you're just happy if someone sticks around for more than a few decades, even if that someone is a demon."

He slumped in his chair, nursing his wine glass.

"I just thought that…", he trailed off and Aziraphale realised with a start how utterly lost he looked.

"Crowley, I didn't become friends with you because of _convenience_ ", he said gently, "and we _are_ friends. We've been friends for over six thousand years!" 

"So you do believe I can love?", asked Crowley hopefully.

"But you don't _love_ me, Crowley", Aziraphale told him, "You can't. You _like_ me. That's a difference. "

Crowley looked at him for a long, long time.

"I do like you, angel", he said quietly.

Then he abruptly stood up, startling Aziraphale.

"I should go now."

Crowley reached for the leather jacket hanging over the back of his chair and quickly slipped into it.

"But you haven't even finished-", objected the angel. "…your drink", he mumbled into the empty space.

Crowley had already left.

His shoulders sagged.

 

* * *

* Ancient Greek knew several different terms for love, whose meanings often overlapped or varied slightly in their definition depending on context or writer. Generally speaking Agape denoted selfless or divine love, while Eros and Philia referred to romantic/sexual love and affection/friendship respectively.

** This is a reference to Goethe's _Faust._ In a pivotal scene Gretchen, the girl Faust is courting, asks him: "Nun sag, wie hast du’s mit der Religion?"/"Now tell me, where do you stand on religion?" Faust – who has made a deal with the devil – is evasive about the question, although it is of great importance to Gretchen. Figuratively, "Gretchenfrage" has come to mean a vital and oftentimes uncomfortable question getting to the core of an issue; where the answer of the person forced to take a stand is going to inform one's own subsequent course of action in a crucial manner. (A more modern version of this might be asking: "Say, where do you stand on Trump?" during a first date.)

* * *

 

1 Or at least the only ones belonging to someone Aziraphale could talk to about something other than the taste of mice.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley didn't call again this week or the next or the one after that and wouldn't answer Aziraphale's calls either. On the one hand this was slightly worrying behaviour for the demon, but on the other hand it was not the first time they had left each other on less than good terms and so Aziraphale stopped calling eventually, assuming that Crowley merely needed some space. There had been disputes after which they had not spoken for decades!

Three weeks turned into four and Aziraphale's worries did not dissipate but grow. It was true that they had had silences which had lasted decades, but it was also true that the last time this had happened had been several centuries before the Arrangement. And if one of them had to go somewhere for an extended period of time because of a special assignment or similar 1 they usually let each other know.

He sent a text message 2

<<Are you alright? I'm sorry if I offended you. Can we get lunch and talk about it?>> 

The answer took two days, but he did get one, to his great relief. It said:  

 >>I'm busy<<

Aziraphale looked at the messages. He contrived several replies, discarded each and every one of them and in the end did not text back at all because he didn't know what to say. It was abundantly clear that Crowley was not just sulking because of a trivial argument they had had, but that he was seriously upset with him.

This was rare. In the entire history of their acquaintance the instances where Crowley had been truly mad at Aziraphale could be counted on one hand and all of those had been well deserved without exception.

Aziraphale fiddled with his phone. He paced around the bookshop. He went outside to take a walk, turned around after two minutes and went back inside. He sighed and flipped the sign on the door to 'Closed' with a thought and a wave of his hand. Then he made himself a cup of tea, sat down on the sofa in the backroom and thought.  

 

###

 

Until now it had never mattered to Crowley whether or not he could 'technically' feel things. Technically he wasn't supposed to have Free Will either and look how that one had turned out.

Fallen Angels had understandably lost the ability to feel His Grace, but Crowley had never once considered whether or not this also meant an inability to get it back, at all, ever. Not that he actually wanted to – he liked his job and he liked his life. He had no intentions of trying to Rise. It was like he had told Aziraphale: The boredom you got in Heaven was just as bad as the excitement you got in Hell. 

But, he supposed, he had liked the _idea_. The possibility that, technically, if one ever felt inclined to do so and really put their mind to it, one could Rise. What had Aziraphale called it again? Right, that 'deep down there was a spark of goodness in him'. Crowley snorted derisively. It was apparently not a big enough spark for Aziraphale, who, deep down, was evidently a much bigger bastard than Crowley had previously given him credit for.

He turned around and pulled the blanket over his head.

 

###

 

Aziraphale mulled over the conversation for what felt like hours, replaying it in his mind again and again and again. He had the nagging feeling that he had indeed done something terribly wrong but could not put his finger on it.

Normally, the angel would go to Crowley for advice when it came to problems like these. This strategy was out of the question this time, for obvious reasons. No, he would have to figure it out on his own. Aziraphale had known Crowley for six millennia, surely he could find out what he had said to upset him.

He had known Crowley for more than six thousand years. Crowley had known him for more than six thousand years.

_Are we friends, angel?_

Of course they were _,_ thought Aziraphale grumpily, what kind of question had that even been? He sipped his tea. Crowley was his best and closest friend in the world and he hoped, no, he _knew_ , that he was Crowley's best and closest friend too. In fact, they were each other's _only_ friends and had been ever since Crowley had offered him a truce and a drink for the first time, back in 3989 B.C.

_How can we be friends if you don't even believe I can feel Philia?_

If Aziraphale was being honest with himself – and he usually was – he had never given the matter any thought at all during his time on Earth, but now he wondered if perhaps he should have. Demons didn't feel love, period. This was the common dogma and Aziraphale had always accepted it without thinking. 

A dogma which was clearly total and utter rubbish, once you spent five minutes thinking about it, the angel realised with a start and nearly dropped his tea. It was undoubtedly the most profound realisation Aziraphale had had in a long time. He was appalled it had taken him so long.

He thought of all those times Crowley had driven him to antique shops and gone along with him to auctions and book sales even though he had almost no interest in any of it. He recalled every stolen piece of cake and every snuff box in his collection that had been a gift from Crowley. He remembered how the Great Library of Alexandria had burned down and Crowley had brought him a scroll someone had rescued. Aziraphale had held onto it until 1883, when it had been lost in a volcanic eruption. He remembered how they had held each other after they had seen Auschwitz and how, after the war had ended, Crowley had groomed Aziraphale's wings for the first time.

Crowley didn't just _like_ him or liked spending time with him, Crowley _loved_ him and he, Aziraphale, had offhandedly told him that he didn't because he was a demon. To Crowley it must have felt like Aziraphale had just declared the last six thousand years null and void.

 _Oh dear_ , he thought, and this time actually did drop his tea.  _Oh dear,_ _I really messed this one up, didn't I._   

Aziraphale sprang up and sprinted out of his shop 3 and into the busy streets of the city, racing towards Mayfair. He could only hope that six millennia of friendship were long enough for Crowley to find it in his heart to forgive him.

 

* * *

 

1 Say, because they were cold-blooded and felt like spending a particularly cold Winter on the Maledive Islands.

2 From a smartphone. It had cost Crowley a great deal of time and nerves, but he had eventually managed to drag Aziraphale kicking and screaming into the 21stcentury.

3 The door flew open as soon as Aziraphale approached and kindly refrained from pointing out to him that it was locked.


	5. Chapter 5

Fifteen minutes after the bookshop had mindfully closed and re-locked itself behind him, Aziraphale stood in front of Crowley's apartment door, his finger hovering over the bell. He dithered. He took a deep breath. He pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

Aziraphale frowned and pressed it again. He still didn't hear anything. Crowley had apparently turned off the bell. He knocked tentatively, but there was no reaction to this either.

"Crowley?", Aziraphale called softly. Sensing his aura, he knew the demon had to be home although it was very dim, suggesting that Crowley was trying to hide it.

"Crowley, I'm sorry for what I said!", he yelled through the closed door. "Please, let me in. I know you're in there!"

Still nothing.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in anguish and put his finger on the bell again. What he was about to do was definitely not his normal modus operandi, but tough times called for tough measures and the possibility that Crowley might never talk to him again most certainly fell under this. He willed the bell to ring at triple its normal volume.

Fifty-five seconds later the door opened.

 

###

 

When the doorbell wouldn't stop ringing even though he told it to, Crowley knew Aziraphale was not going to give up until he let him in, and he simply did not have the energy to turn this into a battle of wills.

Crowley opened the door.

"What do you want, angel?", he said curtly, hiding behind the coffee mug in his hand. "Go away, I have a hangover."

He did not want Aziraphale to be here. Be here and see the pathetic mess Crowley had become.

"You don't need to-", Aziraphale blurted out, stopped himself and shook his head. "Look, Crowley, can we talk? About what I said the other day."

Slit pupils and amber irises looked at Aziraphale. The fearless, tearless eyes of a Serpent; unblinking and unyielding.

"What do you mean?", asked Crowley, even though he already knew the answer.

Aziraphale ignored the question.

"Can I come in?", he requested, "Please?" 

"Fine", said Crowley with a shrug and let him in.

It didn't matter, did it? Aziraphale would be flustered and apologise for having been insensitive, Crowley would sulk for a while and in the end, nothing would change. Things could hardly get any worse.

They walked over to Crowley's pristine white leather sofa and sat down face to face.

 

The angel looked at Crowley, who had just put down his coffee cup, noting the bitterness in the red-rimmed eyes. Aziraphale had thought about what to say on the way, but nothing he had come up with had seemed anywhere near sufficient. A simple apology would never be enough. 

But Crowley had told Aziraphale about how he could still remember Before and that meant that there was one thing Aziraphale could do; something he desperately hoped was still lodged somewhere in Crowley's memory. Would Crowley still recall it, recognise it? Would he still understand the significance of what Aziraphale was about to do?

He scooted closer to Crowley. The demon tensed.

"What are you do-", he began, but stopped when Aziraphale lifted his hands to cradle Crowley's face, gently stroking the cheeks and then settling them on Crowley's shoulders. He leaned forward and touched their foreheads together lightly.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, took a deep breath and spoke in the language of angels:

"Shachde d'tenech anha ya'achna'ashima mahal ol zirech metach a geh. Kharam a rama gahadme d'kanaph. U geh ziroch modeshe ve ol gohul e d'aga?" _  
_

_Forgive me my brother for I have done you a great wrong. The weight of shame grounds my wings. Will you hear me speak from my soul?_

For a long time, the demon neither moved nor spoke. He simply sat there, with his hands hanging loosely to the sides, his forehead touched to Aziraphale's and his eyes closed as well. Aziraphale did not need his heart to beat but it did so anyway, fast and scared, while he waited for a decision.

When Crowley still had not moved after what felt like an eternity, Aziraphale finally permitted his body to slump and the tears to well up in his eyes. No decision was a decision all on its own.

He was about to pull back, when Crowley reached out and put his own hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, thumbs caressing him briefly.

"Ol ziroch modeshe ve geh gohul."

_I will hear you speak._

The demon pressed their foreheads closer together and pure and utter relief drained the tension from Aziraphale's shoulders. He gave Crowley a little squeeze before he cleared his throat and continued in Enochian:

 _"I saw the truth, but I did not believe my own eyes._  
_I heard the truth, but I did not believe my own ears._  
_I tasted the truth, but I did not believe my own mouth._  
_I touched the truth, but I did not believe my own hands.  
_ _I thought about the truth, but I did not comprehend._

_In my ignorance I have hurt you."_

Aziraphale paused and took a shuddering breath, before he went on, in English.

"Ever since the Fall we were told that demons couldn't love and like a fool I repeated it against all the evidence in front of my me. It's not true and if I had ever stopped to think about it for even a minute I would have seen it for the lie it was, but I didn't because… because I was an ignorant moron. It hasn't been true for over six thousand years, Crowley, and it will never be true. I am your friend as you are mine. My best friend, who is very dear to me as I know that I am dear to you. I was callous and hurtful and most of all I was in the wrong. I'm truly sorry."

He opened his eyes briefly to look at Crowley.

" _You have heard my plea._ _Will you forgive me?",_ he asked.

 _"I have heard your plea and I will consider it",_ answered Crowley in a shaky voice, keeping his eyes closed.

His breaths were deep and deliberate, as were Aziraphale's. Slowly their inhales and exhales began to synchronise, both adopting the same calm, steady rhythm. Only when their chests were heaving in perfect tandem did Crowley speak again: 

_"I have considered your plea and this is my verdict:_

_When I showed you the truth you remained blind._  
_When I told you the truth you remained deaf.  
_ _When I offered you the truth you did not take it._

_Where there was wisdom, you chose ignorance."_

He paused for a fleeting moment and caressed Aziraphale's neck with his thumb, then continued:

_"Yet I look at you and I see that you have opened your heart.  
_ _Yet I listen to you and I hear that you have opened your mind._

_Where you followed the wrong path, you have now seen the error of your ways._ "

He lifted his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Aziraphale's forehead.

"Neshachge."

_You are forgiven._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it is cheesy, deal with it. It was one of those 3am ideas that ended with me making up a language from scratch (or at least the parts I needed :p). The Enochian used here is 98% totally made up. For readability & aesthetic reasons I chose not to write everything in Enochian here but because I'm a huge geek I ended up "translating" everything anyway because why the eff not. I'm going to include another version of the last chapter with all the Enochian+translation so if you like that better or feel like trying your hand at decoding it, head onwards to chapter 6.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter version 2, with the whole ritual in Enochian+translation

Fifteen minutes after the bookshop had mindfully closed and re-locked itself behind him, Aziraphale stood in front of Crowley's apartment door, his finger hovering over the bell. He dithered. He took a deep breath. He pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

Aziraphale frowned and pressed it again. He still didn't hear anything. Crowley had apparently turned off the bell. He knocked tentatively, but there was no reaction to this either.

"Crowley?", Aziraphale called softly. Sensing his aura, he knew the demon had to be home although it was very dim, suggesting that Crowley was trying to hide it.

"Crowley, I'm sorry for what I said!", he yelled through the closed door. "Please, let me in. I know you're in there!"

Still nothing.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in anguish and put his finger on the bell again. What he was about to do was definitely not his normal modus operandi, but tough times called for tough measures and the possibility that Crowley might never talk to him again most certainly fell under this. He willed the bell to ring at triple its normal volume.

Fifty-five seconds later the door opened.

 

###

 

When the doorbell wouldn't stop ringing even though he told it to, Crowley knew Aziraphale was not going to give up until he let him in, and he simply did not have the energy to turn this into a battle of wills.

Crowley opened the door.

"What do you want, angel?", he said curtly, hiding behind the coffee mug in his hand. "Go away, I have a hangover."

He did not want Aziraphale to be here. Be here and see the pathetic mess Crowley had become.

"You don't need to-", Aziraphale blurted out, stopped himself and shook his head. "Look, Crowley, can we talk? About what I said the other day."

Slit pupils and amber irises looked at Aziraphale. The fearless, tearless eyes of a Serpent; unblinking and unyielding.

"What do you mean?", asked Crowley, even though he already knew the answer.

Aziraphale ignored the question.

"Can I come in?", he requested, "Please?" 

"Fine", said Crowley with a shrug and let him in.

It didn't matter, did it? Aziraphale would be flustered and apologise for having been insensitive, Crowley would sulk for a while and in the end, nothing would change. Things could hardly get any worse.

They walked over to Crowley's pristine white leather sofa and sat down face to face.

 

The angel looked at Crowley, who had just put down his coffee cup, noting the bitterness in the red-rimmed eyes. Aziraphale had thought about what to say on the way, but nothing he had come up with had seemed anywhere near sufficient. A simple apology would never be enough.

But Crowley had told Aziraphale about how he could still remember Before and that meant that there was one thing Aziraphale could do; something he desperately hoped was still lodged somewhere in Crowley's memory. Would Crowley still recall it, recognise it? Would he still understand the significance of what Aziraphale was about to do?

He scooted closer to Crowley. The demon tensed.

"What are you do-", he began, but stopped when Aziraphale lifted his hands to cradle Crowley's face, gently stroking the cheeks and then settling them on Crowley's shoulders. He leaned forward and touched their foreheads together lightly.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, took a deep breath and spoke in the language of angels:

"Shachde d'tenech anha ya'achna'ashima mahal ol zirech metach a geh. Kharam a rama gahadme d'kanaph. U geh ziroch modeshe ve ol gohul e d'aga?"  
_Forgive me my brother for I have done you a great wrong. The weight of shame grounds my wings. Will you hear me speak from my soul?_

For a long time, the demon neither moved nor spoke. He simply sat there, with his hands hanging loosely to the sides, his forehead touched to Aziraphale's and his eyes closed as well. Aziraphale did not need his heart to beat but it did so anyway, fast and scared, while he waited for a decision. 

When Crowley still had not moved after what felt like an eternity, Aziraphale finally permitted his body to slump and the tears to well up in his eyes. No decision was a decision all on its own.

He was about to pull back, when Crowley reached out and put his own hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, thumbs caressing him briefly.

"Ol ziroch modeshe ve geh gohul."  
_I will hear you speak._

The demon pressed their foreheads closer together and pure and utter relief drained the tension from Aziraphale's shoulders. He gave Crowley a little squeeze before he cleared his throat and continued:

"Ol zirech semiye yessnaha, mehal ol zirech idzahene semehen e de."  
_I saw the truth, but I did not believe my own eyes._

"Ol zirech modeshe yessnaha, mehal ol zirech idzahene modehen e de."  
_I heard the truth, but I did not believe my own ears._

"Ol zirech emeshe yessnaha, mehal ol zirech idzahene gohola e de."  
_I tasted the truth, but I did not believe my own tongue._

"Ol zirech yahashe yessnaha, mehal ol zirech idzahene yahen e de."  
_I touched the truth, but I did not believe my own hands._

"Ol zirech shonehe i yessnaha, mehal ol zirech idmeshone."  
_I thought about the truth, but I did not comprehend._

"A d'eshonim ol zirech achnamege."  
_In my ignorance I have hurt you._

Aziraphale paused and took a shuddering breath, before he went on, in English.

"Ever since the Fall we were told that demons couldn't love and like a fool I repeated it against all the evidence in front of my me. It's not true and if I had ever stopped to think about if for even a minute I would have seen it for the lie it was but I didn't because… because I was an ignorant moron. It hasn't been true for over six thousand years, Crowley, and it will never be true. I am your friend as you are mine. My best friend, who is very dear to me as I know that I am dear to you. I was callous and hurtful and most of all I was in the wrong. I'm truly sorry."

He opened his eyes briefly to look at Crowley.

"Geh zirech modeshe d'marush. U geh ziroch shachde?", he asked.  
_You have heard my plea._ _Will you forgive me?_

"Ol zirech modesh g'marush meha ye ol ziroch mosahe", answered Crowley in a shaky voice, keeping his eyes closed.  
_I have heard your plea and I will consider it._

His breaths were deep and deliberate, as were Aziraphale's. Slowly their inhales and exhales began to synchronise, both adopting the same calm, steady rhythm. Only when their chests were heaving in perfect tandem did Crowley speak again:

"Ol zirech mosahe g'marush meha ye beheshem e de:"  
_I have considered your plea and this is my verdict:_

"Ashata ol zirech shivohe yessnaha geh zirech samileche esemi."  
_When I showed you the truth you remained blind._

"Ashata ol zirech gohul a geh yessnaha geh zirech samileche emodesh."  
_When I told you the truth you remained deaf._

"Ashata ol zirech yeheshne yessnaha geh idzirech balehe."  
_When I offered you the truth, you did not take it._

"Ashata zirech shonim geh zirech moshone eshonima."  
_Where there was wisdom, you chose ignorance."_

He paused for a fleeting moment and caressed Aziraphale's neck with his thumb, then continued:

"Mehalbe kan ol semiye a geh meha ol semiye geh zirech ayeye g'chomon."  
_Yet I look at you now and I see that you have opened your heart._

"Mehalbe kan ol modeshe a geh meha ol modeshe geh zirech ayeye g'shon'aga."  
_Yet I listen to you and I hear that you have opened your mind._

"Ashata geh zirech rohe chala a chedach ashi, kan geh zirech esemishone idmeshim e g'chedahen"  
_Where you followed the wrong path, you have now seen the error of your ways._

 He lifted his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Aziraphale's forehead.

 "Neshachge."

  _You are forgiven._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Rewrote all the language hints because I'm a moron. Hopefully it will actually be possible to work it out now.
> 
> Some stuff about the language itself to give you a few hints if you want to take a closer look and work it out for yourself (not too close though, this will definitely not hold up to a proper linguistic analysis... ^^°°°)
> 
> The English translations are for the most part direct or very close to it only in the sense that even a phrase like "error of your ways" will be identical-ish in Enochian. However, the word order is slightly different (adjectives after nouns for example) and it's partly an agglutinative language, which means it uses pre/suffixes (hint: negatives, possessive pronouns, active/passive). These are sometimes but not always separated by '. With two (2) exceptions words do not contain ' other than as a pre/suffix-separator. Caution: There may be an irregular verb/noun or two because every language has these and You Must Suffer The Irregular Plural Form.
> 
>  
> 
> Lengthy and probably boring note on how I arrived at my version of Enochian: 
> 
> I basically started by googling things like "Enochian dictionary" (and dabbled in researching 16th century occultists) which was a useful starting point. However, it turned out all the "official" Enochian words I found were *terrible* and not at all like I imagined the language to sound like (I think I kept maybe two words). So, scratch that. Next step I looked for a couple of youtube videos in Hebrew to get a feel for what it should sound like imho. I landed on a random TV interview and had the brilliant idea to just type stuff as I heard it. That approach seemed much more productive so I did the same with a few other languages (I think Farsi and Arabic, Japanese did not work out) until I had "generated" a large enough number of words. I kept some, tossed some and changed some around to sounds I liked better. I had already written everything I wanted in English so now I just picked out nice-sounding words and assigned them meanings and came up with Grammar rules on the fly. Then I re-wrote everything several times and made up new words by myself when I ran out (sometimes I even made attempts to be logical in terms of etymology).
> 
> In other words: I had way too much fun with this and probably spent as much time on it as on the entire rest of the story. Such is the life of a full-time geek...


End file.
